Ultimate Batman 1 to 6: The End and the Beginning
by steave
Summary: This is a retelling of Bruce Wayne, better known as Batman. Go back to his beginnings, and watch him now as he battles the Falcones, Maronis, and the Red Hood. Read and Review, let me know what you think.
1. Issue 1

The End and the Beginning

1 of 6

Nick Gourley

20 years ago.

The rain was cold and Jason was already drenched. His snowy white shirt, which he had worn to church only hours earlier, was utterly and completely transparent. He could feel the dampness stick to his torso everytime he took another step.

Tommy, was another story. Already he was rolling and diving into the mud like he was a professional at this newly created sport. His tuxedo, once a rich jet black, was now covered in grime and sludge. Had you not seen his crimson colored hair earlier, you would've thought it to be dirty brown.

"C'mon Bruce! Join in!"

Tommy screamed to Bruce. Bruce, however, did not comply. He remained seated at the grand steps leading to the mansion holding his umbrella, sparing his clothes and body from the cold wetness around him.

"No thank you."

"Come on bro, you know you want to."

Bruce looked up to see his younger brother staring at him with his lush green eyes. Jason, younger than Bruce by 23 months, gave him the most innocent, puppy-eyed look he had seen in his 7 years of living.

"C'mon Bruce, don't tell me you're chicken."

Tommy then clucked, and strutted as a chicken normally does. You could tell by watching that Tommy had had plenty of practice at this act. His necklace, a green circular band laced on a silver chain, was swinging to and fro with every well placed strut.

"I'm just not quite sure if mother and father would want me to get my clothes dirty."

"Oh come on Bruce, look at Jason. He's every bit as dressed up as you and he looks like he just took a shower in his clothes."

"Well, I dunno. . ."

"Well, me and Jason are gonna go play hide and go seek and . . ." Tommy began to approach Bruce. Bruce eyed Tommy up and down suspiciously. Tommy swung his right hand playfully, but not necessarily gently, and slapped Bruce on his shoulder, leaving a nice wet handprint on his coat. "You're it!"

As if a man had pulled the trigger of a race gun, the two were off into the vastness of the Wayne courtyard. Bruce, unsure of what to do, continued to sit under his umbrella on the steps. The last thing he wanted to do was disappoint his mother and father.

After a good half an hour passed by, Bruce concluded that he should at the very least go look for the two. He didn't want to get blamed for Tommy's and Jason's sudden disappearance.

Bruce searched near the gardens, behind the greenhouse, in the garage, and still couldn't find a single trace of either Tommy, or Jason.

He stepped onto a circular stone box to get a better vantage point of the area. Never had he thought his own property to be so enormous, and he had played in the gardens and courtyard countless times.

"Tommy! Jason!"

Bruce jumped to try and see just a little bit higher. When he expected to land back on his feet, he didn't. The top of the box gave way, and he fell. With a scream he was tumbling down a cold, wet, stone, circular shaft. He didn't land on his feet, but instead on his right side. The air drove itself out from his lungs forcefully.

"Bruce! Are you alright?"

He could hear his younger brother, Jason, calling for him, yet he was unable to answer. All around him was darkness, complete and utter darkness. When he looked up, he didn't see Jason nor Tommy looking down on him. He figured that they had gone and gotten his parents.

Just then, he could hear a shrill shriek, nowhere near human, and unlike anything else he had heard in his 7 years of living. He looked towards the source of the sound, finding what appeared to be a hole in the stone wall.

Not a stream of light pierced the hole's darkness. It was a mass of ebony, unpenetrable. However, it wasn't unmovable, and henceforth, the mass of darkness shifted and took shape.

They exploded from the hole and swarmed around Bruce. All he could do was scream and swat, trying to create some distance from him and the small creatures. They rushed at him, and continued their assault.

In this moment, the 7-year-old blonde-haired Bruce Wayne's life was forever altered by a creation of nature.

Bats.

--

20 years later.

Bats.

They are the company that he lacks. They are his inspiration, and his symbol.

Earlier that night, someone had knocked over a bank. This wasn't just any bank, however, this bank was owned by Sal Maroni, also known as, the Boss.

An imposing cime figurehead, he battled over control of Gotham's underworld with the current "owner" of the downside of Gotham, Carmine Falcone. The two had never had a gang war over control, for Carmine owned more muscle and had more indirect control of Gotham City than Sal. A war with Falcone would change, and possibly destroy Gotham forever. The two had a mutual relationship, and for Sal, that was enough.

He strapped his military kevlar boots and tightened his utility belt. As far as he knew, no one was to be investigating at the scene, they did that 30 minutes prior. The scene would be fresh, for cops in Gotham these days were nowhere near what they used to be. All bent and crooked, they had much rather stolen the rest of the money then do any thorough investigation.

He pulled his kevlar-reinforced cowl over his blonde hair. The suit was light, mobile, and protective. A product of Wayne Enterprises modified by Alfred and himself. The old man had suggested and urged the metal plating in the cowl to protect himself from head-shots. Which, if a common thug, would usually go for.

"Master Bruce?" The old butler emerged from the darkness, only to find something other than Bruce. A new being arose from the shadows of the cave. This was no man, but a creature of the night.

The utter horror and shock that eminated from Alfred's face gave Bruce the clarification he needed on the costume's effectiveness.

"Marvelous sir," Alfred stated, "dreadfully marvelous."

--

"Damnit."

Harvey Dent paced back and forth in his District Attorney's office. It had been only 15 minutes since he called his "mutual friend" and he was already getting more than a little anxious. The man he called was less than friendly. His voice sounded as if a low animalistic growl. He could only imagine what this guy would look like.

"What do you want?"

Dent whirled around to see a dark . . . was it a creature? Whatever it was, it was crouched in his windowsill and it had wings and horns.

"Y-y-yeah," he was shaking uncontrollably. "Listen, um, I just wanted to talk to you about the heist."

"What about it?" Whatever this thing was, it obviously thought it was wasting its time.

"Maroni's gonna blame Falcone for this heist."

"That's not my problem."

"It could be. Look, if things get out of a hand, we could have a full-scale gang war right here in Gotham City over a stupid bank robbery."

"What do you want me to do about it?"

"I want you to find out who's behind all of this."

"Wasn't that the point of my investigating this."

"I'm just," Dent turned around and sighed, "I just don't want Gotham going down on my watch."

"It isn't yours to watch. Not anymore."

Harvery spun back around only to find his windowsill empty.

"This relationship is going to be very interesting."

--

Gordon sipped his cup of warm coffee. He was glad that he could be working with an actual detective for once. The other guys liked to stir things up, not Dick. Dick was loyal, honest, and a former acrobat.

He lived with his parents and his younger brother Tim. They work for the Gotham City Circus. The Flying Graysons, people called them. A good strong family, one of the few since the Waynes had died.

The Waynes. Good people they were. Unfortunate that they died. They were one of the few families holding Gotham City together. With their death, everything had gone to hell.

Gordon decided to move with his family to Chicago. He had been gone for 20 years and had only returned a week earlier. The GCPD was nothing like it was when he left. New commissioner, new detectives, a completely new force. The change, was not for the better.

The entire city, along with the police force, was bent. All ruled by crimelords and drug dealers. The biggest names were Sal "The Boss" Maroni and Carmine Falcone. Combined, they owned all of the muscle in the town. Some of their muscle included detectives and cops.

Not Gordon and Dick. They were the two most looked up to and honorable of the entire police force. Because of this, they decided to investigate into the Maroni-owned bank robbery themselves.

Neither Gordon nor Dick denied that some cops had probably already beat them to the scene and made off with some of the remaining cash. Either that, or disposed of some of the evidence, assuming Falcone was behind the robbery.

Both prayed to God that Falcone wasn't behind the robbery. If he was, Gotham would be in flames in the next couple of days.

Dick grew uneasy with the silence. "Who do you think did it?"

"Probably just some coincidence. A disgruntled worker who wants to take it out on Maroni."

"Well, whoever it is, they couldn't have picked a worse bank to rob."

The car came up to an exquisite looking complex.

"They also couldn't have been less sloppy," finish Dick.

The glass-framed doors had obviously been blown out by a gun. The shattered remnants were all over the concrete. Dick and Gordon removed themselves from the car and walked through what was left of the door.

"Well, we know one thing for sure."

"What's that Dick?"

"He's never robbed a bank before."

The more and more they searched the more and more clear it became to them.

"This guy wanted people to know he did it."

Gordon looked up at Dick with surprisement. Dick really was as good as everyone had said.

"You're right."

"You think he's framing Falcone?"

"I don't know, there isn't enough evidence to say that he did. It sure does look like it wasn't just one guy though."

Gordon removed his hat to wipe the sweat off his brown brow. The very thought of someone framing Gotham's biggest crimelord was unnearving. It was unheard of, and, unfortuantely, untested. To put Falcone behind bars would be the biggest achievement since Gotham became as big as Metropolis.

Dick made his way over to the vault. The money, all of it, was gone. The door had been rigged with explosives and blown out. All that remained in the vault were open and overturned money cabinets. Drawers were lying on the floor, and the room was a mess.

"You really think Falcone did this," Dick asked.

"By looking at the mess, we sure are meant to see that a group of thugs walked in here and tore the place down, stealing all the money they could get their hands on."

"We got footprints or anything?"

"It looks like someone already beat us to the evidence."

"Or took care of it."

Gordon looked at Dick, and Dick stared back into Gordon's brown eyes. This certainly wasn't what they wanted to think about. They, however, couldn't help but think that one of their own had disposed of the evidence.

"Come on," Gordon replied, "lets take one last look around."

Gordon and Dick withdrew their Maclights and continued their search. Their shoes continued to crack underneath all of the remnants of shattered glass.

Dick looked on the floor for footprints, hair, remnants of clothing or anything that would be considered as evidence. Just then, he passed over a cross between a demon from hell and a man.

In a split second he saw a horrid looking devil, its black wings draped over its muscular body. The shape and form it took, was that of a crouching man. Dick could've sworn that he saw a yellow oval on the beast's chest with a black shape of a bat inside of it. However, when Dick returned his light to where the creature had crouched, it was gone.

Dick stood, erect and unmoving. A dark hand gripped his shoulder firmly and he rolled to his right, drawing his .9mm out from its holster and aiming both it and his light at the man. He was dark-skinned and had a black mustache that had a few hints of grey in it. His glasses and hat, along with badge, eased Dick's horror.

"You alright Dick?"

"Don't scare me like that Gordon."

"What's gotten you so tense all of a sudden?"

"It was just . . ." Dick looked again to where he had spotted the creature, flashing his light, only to again find nothing. "My imagination playing tricks on me."

--

The two police officers returned to their patrol car and made their way off. Rain echoed their passing. The rain brought back memories. So many memories.

The torn piece of red cloth provided a clue. Whether it was left purposely or not, remained to be seen. The footprints suggested a tall lanky individual, about 6'5" in height and 192 in weight. Those prints were the only in the entire vacinity.

One of the cops, the one that couldn't be any older than 20, had spotted him. He was sure that they would meet again. The other one, Gordon, was one of the only cops he knew that he could trust. All that was left was to introduce himself.

The gargoyles fitted the scenery, looking down at the crime scene from a block away. They crouched, guardians and witnesses Gotham. However, this night, they had a new creature among them, a new gargoyle crouching beside them.

That gargoyle stood, and vanished into the night.


	2. Issue 2

"The End and the Beginning"

Part 2 of 6

Nick Gourley

20 years ago.

He was staring at the white vastness of his ceiling. The horrific experience was still fresh in his mind. Bats, biting and clawing at his frail and fragile body. The rest of the encounter went by as a flurry of motion summed up only as a vague blur.

His father had lowered himself on a cable and pulled Bruce out of the well, and carried him into the house. Thomas, along with the help of Alfred, managed to set the bones back into place. It was the most painful experience Bruce had ever known.

"What were you doing out there?" His father entered into his bedroom and sat beside him.

"Tommy and Jason were playing hide-and-go-seek, and I was it."

"Why were you playing out in the rain?"

"I don't know."

"You know we don't like it when you and Jason run off like that without telling us where you're going."

"I know father."

"We just want you kids to be safe, that's all."

"I know."

"Well, tonight your mother and I are going to see a movie I'm sure you would love to see."

"What's that father?"

"The Mark of Zorro."

A rush of excitement coursed through Bruce's veins. His sore body was rejuvinated at the very mention of Zorro. Bruce had been counting down the seconds for when that movie came out.

"Oh please father can I go with you?"

"Only if you promise to be a good little boy and clean your room this very instant," Thomas said with a grin on his pleasant face.

"Oh, right away father yes."

"But before you do, I got something to show you." Out of his pocket, Thomas pulled out a long box of some kind. He opened it to reveal a pearl necklace, absolutely gorgeous. The most magnificent Bruce had ever seen.

"You think your mother will like them?"

Bruce touched them, feeling the smoothness of each pearl ball. "Yeah."

"Now get to work young man," Thomas said playfully.

"Yes sir."

--

"You don't need to be egging him on Jason," Thomas said ascerting himself.

"But dad . . ."

"No buts Jason, it could have easily been Tommy or you falling down that well. You know what's right and wrong."

"Yes, dad."

"Now, Bruce, your mother, and I are going to the movies. I know how much you don't like them, so Alfred will take you to your Aunt and Uncle's. Now I expect you to be respectful to them."

"Yes dad, of course."

Thomas vanished down the stairs, leaving Jason alone. He would never see him again.

--

Bruce had never watched anything so magnificent in his life. The whole movie was filled with adventure and excitement. Never had he seen Zorro so horribly good. He particularly loved the end fight scene with Don Raphael and Zorro.

After the movie was over, the Waynes decided to take the night on the town. They walked and travelled around the vacinity, unsure of where they were going. Bruce was mimicking to the best of his ability all of the moves he had just witnessed.

They then entered an alley. It was filled with trash, grime, and sleeping bodies. Bruce didn't like the looks of it, nor did he want to.

All of the people were dressed in rags, and cloths that at one time resembled decent clothes. Their faces were dull and insipid. Some, Bruce was sure, weren't even alive.

One man however, stood and approached the family. With hidden and astonishing speed, the man pulled out a silver revolver. His voice sounded resembled the sound of breaking glass. "Wallet, now!" His hand was shivering with anticipation and angst.

"Just calm down, and here you go," Thomas replied. He reached into his inner coat pocket and pulled out his wallet. Smoothly and calmly, he gave it to the trembling man. "There you go."

"Jewelry!"

Thomas' face flushed with anger and he got between his wife and the man.

Bang.

Bruce's father dropped to the ground, motionless.

"THOMAS! THOMAS!" His mother was screaming, crouched beside her fallen lover. The man's hand groped around her necklace and pulled it from her neck.

Bang.

The man vanished into the darkness of the alley. The disgruntled and helpless people fled after him, whether out of fear or greed, Bruce didn't care.

The rain echoed his parents passing, and he sat beside them. The blood flowed to his knees and some was splattered on his face. He outstretched his hand, longing to his mother and father, trying to arouse them, only in vain.

The rain mingled with his tears and their blood. At a glance, one would've thought that he was crying blood, his parents' blood.

He sat in silence, and there, in "Crime Alley," he made a solemn and secret vow. A vow that would change him forever. The Wayne family as Gotham City had known it, was dead.

The sirens approached, and men in blue and white outfits took him and his parents away.

--

20 years later.

"What the hell are ya doin' Falcone!"

Sal had entered the restaraunt in a fury. He was accompanied by his two most trusted bodyguards and brothers, Freddie and Timone.

"I was about to ask you the same thing Sal." Carmine was sitting in a private booth, enjoying a glass of Italian wine with a young blonde-haired man, and black-haired woman. "What business do ya have stormin' inta my place?"

"You know why I'm here Falcone."

"If this is about your little bank, I got nothing to do with it."

"Then why do my boys keep tellin' me they saw some of your boys at my bank last night Falcone?"

"Sal, don't get yourself in more trouble than it's worth. I had nothin' to do with that knock over last night. Now, if you don't mind, I'd like to enjoy my dinner with my son and daughter without anymore interruptions."

"Someday Falcone, you're gonna get it."

"Until that day, my friend, you'll remain right where you belong." Carmine glanced up at Sal. "Right underneath my boot."

Sal grimaced, and stormed out of the restaurant only after overturning a couple of tables. Carmine's old face seemed to weather, and plunge into thought.

"Something wrong dad," the young man asked.

"Whoever this guy is who's framin' me, he needs to be shut up, and shut up real fast."

"So what'll we do dad?"

"We'll wait for him to strike again, but in the meantime, I'm starvin'."

--

The alarms were incredibly annoying.

He stepped into the vault and began to empty the cabinets into a bag. Purposely, he threw some money onto the floor, as long as he fed the cops, they would stay out of it.

"This'll teach him, oh yeah this'll teach him."

The hum of a car engine reared to a halt near the bank. Maroni's men, he presumed. Only one last thing to do.

He took out his knife and tore off a piece of his red cloak. Using a pen from behind the counter, he hurridly finished his message. Picking up his bag, he quickly ran out the backdoor.

"He'll pay, oh yes, he'll pay."

--

Freddie was having a good night.

He and his brother Timone got word some of the boys that another of their older brother's banks had been robbed. They were sent to investigate.

Word on the street was that Falcone was behind it. Trying to start a war, people had told them. Sal and his brothers knew Falcone, if he wanted to start a war, it would've been over a long time ago.

That was the thing, somebody was setting both of them up. Somebody wanted a war, and somebody wanted it now. This was a damn good way to start one.

The bank was a mess, money was still lying in the vault, and glass was literally everywhere. It was like deja vu all over again.

"Yo Fred, ya think Falcone did this?"

"In some ways Tim, I hope so. I've been waitin' to smash his skull in for years."

"But don't ya think tha . . ." Something hard and strong wrapped around Timone's neck. In less than 3 seconds, he was out cold.

"Ti . . . HOLY MOTHER OF . . ." Freddie saw the most horrific, god-awful creature that he had seen in his life. Whatever it was, it had its big muscular arm wrapped around Tim's neck.

Freddie drew his gun, but the creature was faster. A gun was already in Tim's hands, and the devil raised Tim's gun-ready hand. In a nanosecond, something hot and cold at the same time tore through Freddie's kneecap. The blood exploded from the wound and ran down his leg. He immediately collapsed to the floor.

The creature nonchalantley walked towards Freddie and kicked his hand with extreme velocity. The gun whirled and slid into the darkness.

A massive, gloved hand grabbed Fred by the throat and lifted him inches off of the ground. He was staring at a demon from hell, Freddie was sure. It had horns, wings, and a black bat inside of a yellow circle on its chest. If the thing had eyes, he couldn't see any.

"What are you!" Fred half asked, half shrieked. The creature of darkness pulled him closer until he could make out its face. It was half-demon, half-man. The only skin on his face was that under his nose, the upper portion was covered in ebony. His eyes were opaque, and pupiless.

"I'm Batman."

Then, there was only darkness.

--

Freddie Maroni went limp in his hand and he dropped him onto the floor.

The bank was just like the last one, trashed. Glass and money lie everywhere. The same footprints he had seen in the last bank were here as well. Only one thing was obvious and one word came to mind.

Setup.

Whoever this was, they intentionally made this look like a group of thugs did it. Particularly, Falcone's thugs. He just couldn't place who would do this.

If things got bad enough, it would start a gang war between Gotham's two biggest crimelords. Whoever wanted to get revenge on Maroni, was potentially doing it in a big way.

How could one make another so hell-bent on revenge that he would risk Gotham itself, just so he could achieve his revenge?

He knew the answer to the question, but refused to think about it anymore. Had to stay focused.

He examined the counter, only to find a red piece of cloth resting on it. It matched the one he had found earlier. This time, however, a letter was addressed on it. It stated:

To Whom It May Concern,

My dear investigators, there is only one bank left to go, and you know where it is. 10 o'clock in the PM. Be there, and get squared.

Sincerely,

Red Hood

The Red Hood was about to have a long night ahead of him. A very, long night.


	3. Issue 3

"The End and the Beginning"

Part 3 of 6

Nick Gourley

20 years ago.

So cold, he was so cold.

His father's bloodstained jacket was wrapped around him, and all he could think of was his mother and father lying motionless on the cold, wet concrete. He didn't care that people were all outside the room, flashing their expensive cameras, just hoping to get a good shot of a hopeless boy.

A dark-skinned man walked into the room. He was wearing the same blue uniform and slacks that the others were wearing. He crouched beside Bruce, and forced a smile onto his own face.

"Here, let me take care of that for you."

He reached out for the coat, which Bruce gave up willingly. The man took a blanket that he had carried in with him and wrapped it around Bruce. It was incredibly warm and extremely cozy.

"It's gonna be alright," he said in a gentle, low voice. "It's gonna be alright."

Bruce stared at the man, and asked, only now realizing something.

"Where's Jason?"

The man sat in silence, and a look of sadness crept onto his once pleasant face. "We dunno kid, we dunno."

--

The funeral was long, and Bruce felt, unneccesary. He didn't feel the need to watch his family be lowered six feet under the ground. All that mattered to him was that they were dead, and they were never coming back.

He anxiously searched the crowd for another little boy, one the same size as himself, only with raven-black hair. His search, ended in failure.

There were many people there. Mr. Falcone and his son, Carmine, attended. At one time, his father, Thomas, had saved Carmine from many bullet wounds. Carmine felt the least he could do was attend the funeral of the man who saved his life.

With him he brought his two children, Roman and Selina. Bruce knew both of them very well, for they were both a part of his class. Roman was a skinny blonde-haired kid, and resembled Bruce in appearance, but only appearance. Selina was charming, elegant, and beautiful. Even at the age of 7 she was absolutely stunning. Bruce spoke to her only on the off chance that he felt courageous that day.

Tommy was there also. He was every bit as solemn as Bruce. To Tommy, Bruce's parents were like his own. They treated Tommy as another of their children.

There were many others too, ones Bruce had only seen walk into their mansion on occasion. Many, Bruce felt, were probably former patients of his father, some business partners.

After it was over, they went to their cars and limos and left. Some came and hugged Bruce, telling him how sorry they were for him, and how it was too bad that good people like them had lost their lives.

They were gone, and that was all that mattered.

A sense of guilt and loss rushed in Bruce. He stared at the tombstones of his parents, alone now. He fell to his knees, staining his pants with grass, and he cried. Oh, how he cried.

Bruce felt the tombstones with his hands, stroking them, like he stroked his parents the night of their death. His hands were full of longing, and regret. Regret that he would never again see them, or hold them.

"It won't happen again, I promise."

Alfred walked to Bruce, and put his smooth hands on his shoulders.

"Are you alright Master Bruce?" Alfred asked in his thick British accent.

"I miss them Alfred," Bruce said, turning into Alfred's waist.

"I'm sure that they wouldn't want you to sir. They would wish for you to go on living a normal, happy life. But, somethings can't help but be missed sir."

Bruce wrapped his arms around the man whom he would come to know as a sort of father. "I love you Alfred."

In all of his life, he had never heard anyone utter those words, other than his own parents. "I love you too sir, I love you too."

--

20 years later.

The bank was virtually untouched, but it stank with a trap.

He came in through the ventilation system from on top of the building. With a press of a switch inside his cowl, his lenses came down over his eyes in nightvision.

He was told to come here at 10:00 P.M. The message was signed by a "Red Hood." He had enough evidence to now ID this man/woman, and know the ties that binds him/her to Maroni and Falcone.

There was no trace of any individual infiltrating the building other than himself. Stupid. Mistake number one. He was waiting for you to show up first.

Batman spun on his heels to find a man that matched the description that he read from the shoeprints. A man, a good 3 inches taller than himself, was swinging a hand covered in golden rings all attached to each other on his 4 fingers. Brass knuckles.

The punch landed against his right cheek and sent him reeling. A quick spit revealed blood. At a second glance he noticed the man was wearing a black tuxedo with black gloves. He wore a red cape, torn at the ends, along with a red hood.

The man swung again, from the punch he could tell that this man had no fighting experience. Batman ducked and came up with a hard uppercut that caught the Hood right under his chin. He flew backwards onto his back.

Batman heard a door swing open, and he spun to greet it. Standing there were 5 men, none of them officers. He could discern that they belonged to Maroni.

"What the hell is that?" One muttered.

"Shoot it damnit! Shoot it!"

Mistake number two. A perfect setup. But not for him, for Maroni's men.

They fired ceaselessly, emptying their clips at the shapeless figure. It flew behind a table, and the firing ceased.

"Hey, Robbie, go check it out."

"Uh, s-s-sure thing."

Robbie trudged to the wooden table. The only thing running through his head was how he hoped that thing was dead. Whatever it was, it needed to be dead. That was that.

He closed in on the table and began to peer over the side. The table decided to greet him. Within seconds, the table was off of the ground and breaking Robbie's nose. Robbie, followed suit by the table, was on the ground.

Then there were 4.

Coming from underneath the table, Batman launched three black objects from his gloved hand. They each landed securely into 3 of the 4 goons' necks. Immediately, they were unconscious.

Then there was only one.

Marcetti looked out from behind the pillar. The only thing he saw was 4 bodies, 3 side-by-side, one underneath a table.

"Where are you?"

The only response to his vital question, was silence. Frustrated and angry, he walked out from behind his pillar.

The back of a black kevlar glove met him from the other side of the pillar, and he fell backwards, his skull cracking on the floor.

--

Third and final mistake.

A sharp object protruded from his shoulder, and as quickly as it pierced, it withdrew. Blood rushed out of his shoulder down his back and front. He couldn't help but fall to the floor, bleeding his life out.

"Wrong place," a voice called to him,"wrong time."

The man fled, and he could hear the sounds of sirens. With all of the strength he could muster, he rolled a smoke grenade from his belt to the door. An explosion and smoke was all that preceded. He quickly made his way to the ventilation shaft.

--

Gordon, Dick, and Flass rushed to the doors.

An explosion of smoke came the moment they got to the door. He could hear Flass struggling for breath. Him being an ex-marine, you'd think that he would have no problem. It was obvious that he was out of practice.

Dick took the situation well, and plunged onward into the smoke, looking for the source. This kid was smart, Gordon knew. Smarter than half the entire force.

Gordon's foot brushed against something spherical and seemed metal. Turning the way he came, he kicked the object out through the door and into the street. The smoke died down and was no more.

"What the hell?"

Flass wasn't referring to the grenade, but to the 5 bodies lying on the floor. One was underneath a table, and 3 were sitting in a heap right in front of him. They all seemed to have what liked like miniature bats sticking out of their necks.

Dick was crouched next to a man lying on his back, his nose was obviously broken.

"These look like Maroni's men," Gordon said.

"Now whoever did this, he knew what he was doing."

A mental image of the creature Dick saw two nights ago sprung into his mind. He stared down at the pool of blood he didn't know he was crouching in until now. The pool turned into a trail that vanished only a few steps away. Dick looked up to see an exposed ventilations system.

"Whoever did it used the shaft to get out."

"Hell," Flass said,"he might still be here." He pulled out his .9mm and fired a few shots into the ceiling.

"Damnit Flass," Gordon answered,"we don't want him dead."

"Sorry Gordon."

"Take those things out of their necks and call for an ambulance. This needs to end, now."

--

"Goodnight daddy."

"Goodnight Selina."

Selina walked out of her father's bedroom and down the hall. She passed some of their thugs, she already knew what they were staring at when she walked past them and into her room.

Pigs, all they were were pigs.

She untied her robe and dropped it onto the floor. Her opened window let in a cool breeze. The bed was warm, and comfortable. She would sleep well tonight.

A gloved hand swept onto her mouth and something sharp and cold pressed against her neck.

"We're gonna be great friends," the voice said. "We're going to be wonderful friends."

--

"Selina," Roman called from the hallway. "Selina, it's Roman."

He opened the bedroom door, and peered in.

"Selina?"

Her robe lie on the floor, her window was open, and her bed was empty. A piece of paper lie on her pillow however. It read:

Do unto others.

Sal

Roman crumpled the paper and threw it onto the ground.

"FATHER!"


	4. Issue 4

"The End and the Beginning"

Part 4 of 6

Nick Gourley

7 years ago.

"How's the school life for you sir?"

Bruce and Alfred ascended the stairs into his mansion. His father was dead, and he would have to accept it. The Wayne Manor was his, and only his.

"It's fine, but I'm not sure that I'll keep attending."

"Do you not like it?"

"I think I've learned all I can there Alfred."

"So, what's left sir?"

"Time to learn things somewhere else."

Alfred's face grew puzzled, and he cocked an eyebrow. "And where would that be sir?"

"I dunno. France, Africa, Japan, all over the world. But none can know where I've gone, these are things I have to do by myself."

"Very well sir, if asked, I'll suggest that you're on 'extended vacation'."

"Sounds good to me Alfred."

Bruce had grown in both intelligence and physical strength. He was close to achieving physical and mental perfection, but he felt that he was still missing something. He had studied at Wayne Enterprises, and many other various schools in the United States. It was time to go beyond America.

He took his things into his room. It was exactly as he left it. He touched nothing, and looked around the room of his youth. It had been 13 years since he slept in this room. It was all that reminded him of what he was, and what he was going to be. He walked out and entered his brother's room.

"Where ya been bro?"

The voice belonged to a young man, that remarkably resembled Bruce. He had raven-black hair, except for a white streak that went from his forehead to the middle of the back of his head.

"J-Jason!"

"Hey."

Bruce rushed forward to greet his younger sibling and pulled him close. The embrace was more than the two had ever given in their entire lives.

"Wow Jason, you've grown."

"You too bro, you sure got big fast."

"Where've you been?"

Jason stood in silence, and a look of sadness quickly washed over his face. "We need to talk Bruce, we really need to talk."

--

7 years later.

The fist landed directly in Sal's stomach, and another clubbed him in the back of the head.

"What the hell you doin' takin my daughter from me Sal!"

His brothers raced their hands to the handles of their guns, but left them in the holsters. Roman drew his without hesitation, and pointed at Freddie's forehead. Roman wouldn't miss, hell, he wouldn't miss if he was 30 feet away.

Sal picked himself from his bedroom floor, wiping the blood coming from his mouth. "What's the meanin' of this Falcone? Bargin' into my house, my room, and beatin' the crap outta an innocent man."

"You know damn well what you did Sal."

"You can ask my boys, I've been here all night, I never touched your familia. I would never do that."

"How do I know that?"

"How do I know you haven't been robbin' my banks."

Falcone swung his fist with all of his might, and he connected. He hit the right side of Sal's jaw that sent him back onto his bed.

"This ain't over Sal, this ain't over at all."

As Roman and Carmine left the building, Sal sat up in his bed. His face gave a look of complete rage.

"Find the dame . . . then kill her."

--

Selina was shivering. A robe, which the maniac had, somewhat graciously, given to her could only cover so much, and reveal the rest. How big the room was, or even where she was, she had no clue. Darkness was all around her, except for a window, which, conveniantly, only lit up where she sat.

"Is anyone there?"

Selina waited for a few minutes, desperately wanting to hear her father's voice, or her brother's.

"I am, my dear."

The voice belonged to no one she had ever known. And, quite frankly, she never wanted to.

"Are you going to kill me?"

"Only if it's necessary."

"How would it be?"

"Maroni must pay, and if that means killing you to help him know suffering, then it shall be done."

"You're insane."

"You can thank Sal."

As her eyes adjusted, she could see the figure of a man, tall and slender in build. He was wearing some kind of cape and hood.

"What do you have against Sal?"

The voice took awhile to respond to this question.

"Everything."

The figure stepped into the light. The color of the hood and cape was blood red. His clothes were a tuxedo and black gloves.

"Who are you?"

"What does it matter? It's never mattered to anyone before."

Selina heard a hint of sadness and longing in the voice. Whoever it was wasn't a cold-blooded killer, that was for sure. He removed his hood and revealed a teary-eyed, long, solemn face. His ebony-colored hair was damp with sweat.

He spoke again. "Maroni took everything from me. He took my job, my family, and my life. I am gladly returning the favor."

His eyes changed from sadness, to rage. The anger poured forth from his eyes.

"I didn't know."

"LIKE YOU CARE!"

The figure vanished again into the darkness, but Selina knew that he was still in the room. His panting was violent and never-ending.

"What does this have to do with me?"

"Falcone thinks Maroni did this, just like Maroni thinks your daddy robbed his little banks."

"That was you?"

"Guilty as charged, my dear. Maroni will no doubt come looking for you, as well as your father. When your daddy finds you and Maroni at the scene, well then, someone will just absolutely have to die."

He let out a sinister chuckle. Selina cringed, and her stomach twisted at the very sound of it. This man was sick, and she wanted her father to kill him.

"Well, my dear, shall we?"

He came towards her carrying a black bag. All she knew was darkness, and she didn't see again for a few more hours.

--

The window was open, the window's never open.

Sal got out of his bed and closed the window. When he turned to go back, something, or someone was on his bed, crouched, as if ready to pounce.

He grabbed the gun that he always sat on his desk just before he went to bed and pulled the trigger at the creature.

Click.

He pulled it again.

Click.

"It's hopeless."

The creature sure sounded just like that. It's growl seemed to scratch itself out of the thing's throat, sinister, and grotesque.

"You b-b-been robbin' my banks?"

"No," the creature said. "He has."

He floated a red piece of cloth towards him. Sal walked towards the window to get a better light and read the note.

"Red Hood?"

"You know anything about it?"

"No."

"Would you lie to me?"

"Does it matter?"

Sal turned around and was staring at the cross between an Olympian weight-lifter and the devil himself. Hell, for all he knew, it was Satan.

"You ever had any problems with your employees at AXIS Chemicals?"

"No."

The creature's eyes stared a hole into Sal and burnt through his flesh.

"You're lying."

"Alright, there was this one guy, his name was Joe."

"What happened?"

"He worked for me part-time and he was a comedian. Not a very good one, but he made money where he could."

"Get to the point."

"Point is, he was a smart guy. Class-A when it came to chemicals. I wanted him to make somethin' for me, and he wouldn't do it. Said it was against the law, and he wouldn't have none of it. Well, my brothers and I went to his house to pay him a visit. He wasn't there, so we shot his pregnant wife full of holes and left."

"You killed his family. You really are as dumb as you look."

"What?"

"Never kill a man's family without killing him too."

"Why is that?"

"It just gives him a reason to get revenge. Trust me Maroni, he's getting it, right now."

"Well, what the hell am I supposed to do?"

"Go to AXIS, he's taking Selina there."

"This a trap?"

Batman just stared back at Maroni, and he knew the answer. He walked to the window and opened it.

"What are you?"

"I'm Batman."

The Batman dove out of the window and fell into the darkness of the night.


	5. Issue 5

"The End and the Beginning"

Part 5 of 6

Nick Gourley

7 years ago.

They both stood under the tree gazing at the tombstones of their beloved parents.

Bruce looked at Jason, both were solemn and quiet. Neither one of them wanted to disturb the peace of this place that they both held so sacred. It had been 13 years since that dreadful night, one of which neither would forget.

Jason was definately different from what Bruce remembered. The young, somewhat immature, young boy that he had known for so long vanished. Now stood a responsible, but troubled, young man. Both of them were so alike, that the thought scared both of them.

Bruce had always followed the rules, Jason liked to be rebellious, that was the way they had lived their lives. Not anymore. Now they were one in the same. In more ways, than either would know or admit.

Jason spoke quietly and softly,"What will you do now?"

"I'm going away. I don't know how long I'll be gone."

Jason turned to Bruce. "But you've only just arrived."

"There's still things I feel that I need to do."

"Well, that's alright, I honestly didn't plan on staying either."

Bruce gave him a puzzled, and concerned look. "Where are you going?"

"I dunno. Just, anywhere really. Get out of this city, get out of this country probably. I've always wanted to go to France. You?"

"I'm not really sure either. Just, wherever fate will take me."

"You're a lot different bro, a lot different. The Bruce I know would be waiting for that kid to give him a push in the right direction."

"I was pushed a long time ago Jason. A long time ago."

"When are you leaving big bro?"

"Tomorrow. I'm flying out on a private jet, don't really want the press to be hounding me down."

"You're gonna cause quite a stir with your sudden disappearance."

"It'll be no different with you."

"According to the press, I'm dead. I don't matter to them. As far as they're concerned, Thomas and Martha had only one child."

"Come on, let's get inside, it's getting kind of cold."

Bruce, accompanied by his younger brother, walked into the sanctum of Wayne Manor.

--

"Take care of yourself Jason."

"Eh, what's there to worry about?"

"That's why I said that."

Bruce entered into his private jet. Jason stood in his brown leather trench coat, listening to the soft hum of the engines. Bruce walked to his comfortable seat and peered outside of his side window. With a salute, returned by Jason, the plane was off of the runway, soaring into the sunset.

"Al?"

"Yes Master Jason?"

"Get me a plane, willya bud?"

"Of course sir."

Jason had made a vow, a secret and solemn one. He made it 13 years ago, on a rainy and dreadful night. One that would be revealed in due time. All in due time.

--

7 years later.

It had been a long night, and Gordon still wasn't finished.

The 5 goons that they had taken in only an hour earlier fessed up to being thrashed by some giant bat demon. While, unheard of, Gordon wasn't sure what to think. He had had reports of sightings all over Gotham in a matter of days. Whoever this winged vigilante was, Gordon hoped he kept the thugs off of the streets.

While, this was of course against the law, he couldn't help but feel happy. This man, or creature, was protecting this city. While his methods may seem radical and illegal, he was still doing it. He was doing what these so called "police officers" were supposed to be doing. As far as Gordon was concerned, Batman deserved a badge.

Commissioner Loeb wanted the Batman dead, that was plain and simple. No matter how he said it, it flowed out of his lips, that he wanted the Bat dead. Plain and simple, no ifs ands or buts about it.

The windowsil creeked. Gordon spun in his chair and pulled out his .9mm. Nothing, but the window was open. Creepy, way too creepy. He walked to the window and glanced upwards, downwards, sideways, and any other direction he could think of. There was nothing. He slid the window down and sat back down in his seat.

"JEEZ . . !"

Crouching on the desk was not a creature, but a very muscular man passing for a creature. This guy was good, real good.

"It's you . . ."

"It's me," the man-creature growled. It almost seemed that it pained the man to even speak.

"What do you want?"

"Information."

"Why me?"

"I can trust you."

"How do you know?"

"Ex-Ranger. Best known cop in all of Chicago's history. Only cop in Gotham's entire force, minus Dick, to not have any kind of criminal record. Take your pick."

"I see you know how to research, now, why should I help you?"

"You know exactly why."

This guy was really good. "Refresh my memory."

"Together, we can save Gotham."

"From what?"

"Itself." From its gloved hand, it floated a piece of red cloth towards Gordon. "This was at the first bank. His name is Joe, he goes by Red Hood. This is your man."

"What do I need to do?"

"Do you know anything about a Joe who worked at AXIS Chemicals and lost his job recently?"

Something clicked in Gordon's mind. "Yeah, Joe Kerr, his pregnant wife was killed only a week ago. Evidence points to Maroni, but nothing has been proven."

The creature, or was it a man, Gordon still wasn't sure, threw a cassette tape onto the table. "Here's your proof. From Maroni's own mouth."

"So, what do we do? You want me to go knock on Maroni's door and arrest him?"

"He and a band of his thugs will be at AXIS tonight. The Red Hood will be there along with Selina."

"Selina? Selina Falcone?"

"He's kidnapped her."

"Why?" The realization hit Gordon only after he asked.

"Hood wants revenge. He wants blood. The best way to get that, is war."

"He'd have just as good a chance of getting killed as the others."

"You'd be surprised what people would do."

Gordon wasn't going to question this last statement. "When?"

"Midnight. Bring your best."

Gordon looked down at his desk. "What if my best . . ." Gordon managed another quick glance up. The man-creature was gone. ". . . isn't good enough."

--

Dick stared at his roast beef and mashed potatoes. It had been so long since he had had his mother's food.

"How's work been son?" His father was as inquisitive as always.

"It's been alright. Pays well."

"You sound as if you don't like it."

"Not a whole lot has been going on."

"What about this 'Red Hood' the newspaper is babbling about?"

"Don't really know. Nothing is concrete so far."

"You gonna hang out with me after school Dick?" Tim called to him from across the table. He had forgotten how big he was growing. He was bigger than Dick was at his age.

"We'll see little buddy, we'll see."

"You shot anybody yet?"

"Tim!" Dick's mother yelled from inside the kitchen.

"No little bro, no I haven't. Hopefully, I'll never have to."

The phone rang. Tim sprang from his chair and ran into the kitchen. Yanking the phone off of the receiver he answered. "Yeah . . . Yeah hold on."

Tim, apparently defeated, trudged back into the dining room. "It's Jimmy."

By Jimmy, Tim meant Jim Gordon. Dick touched the phone to his ear. "Hey . . ." A look of worry and focus entered Dick's face. "Yeah . . . Yeah I'll be right there."

--

All she could hear was the sound of bubbling and churning.

"We're here my dear. We're here."

The black cloud was lifted and she had to take a few seconds to readjust to the light. The smell of the place was rank and horrible.

They were standing on a catwalk overlooking some massive facility. There were all different sights and smells that Selina didn't rightly know exactly what to do with them all. She wanted to hurl. That felt like the right thing to do.

"Aren't these fumes just absolutely atrocious?"

The man was trying to be a comedian. It wasn't working, nor would anyone be able to make her laugh at the moment.

"What will you do with me now?"

"Now, we wait my dear. Oh yes, we wait."


	6. Issue 6

"The End and the Beginning"

Part 6 of 6

Nick Gourley

A few weeks ago.

The plane soared its way into Gotham City airport. He had the method and the means. He was ready. The question, was if Gotham was ready for him.

The woman he had sat with the entire trip home was only a tad bit anxious. She wanted his autograph so badly, that she had asked for him to sign anywhere on her body. Whether to his own disappointment or hers, he signed her hand.

"I'll never wash this hand," she vowed. Bruce could only smile and look away.

"Flight 121 will be landing now, please fasten your seatbelts, just in case."

The voice came in over the intercomm, belonging to a young woman's. Bruce peered into the skyline that belonged to Gotham City. The buildings were dirtier than he remembered.

It would only be a matter of days. Gotham would finally be saved, and everything would be done.

Would it be that simple? Would it take only a matter of days to clean up Gotham and save her from herself? These questions would, and had to be answered later, for now, it was time to be a millionaire playboy.

"Thank you for choosing International Airlines, we hope you enjoyed your flight. Please come again. Have a good day!"

Bruce took his bag from the compartment hanging above his seat. Only a single suitcase was the only luggage that he had, and also the only that he would ever need.

As the men, women, and children exited the plane, Bruce wasn't in the least bit surprised to already see a long line of photographers, journalists, and photo-journalists waiting to greet him.

It had been 7 years. He was finally home.

The lights flashed with his exit and he could only tussle his blonde hair and smile his pearly white smile. Bruce thought the flahses would never stop as he made his way down the ramp.

"Mr. Wayne, how've you been?"

"Where've you been?"

"Are you married?"

"Heard you hooked up."

"I LOVE YOU!"

These were only a few of the cacophony of sounds, noises, and voices that he heard on his way to the limousine waiting for him through the congregation of the masses. A tall, slender, and elderly man waited for him at the limo.

Alfred, his long trusted butler, was waiting for him. His friend and confidant, and as far as Bruce was concerned, his second father.

Bruce saluted the crowd, and opened his blue eyes as big as he could for one last picture. Then, he disappeared into the limo with his butler.

"Quite the return wouldn't you say sir?"

"They haven't seen anything yet Alfred. Not even close."

--

Gordon regretted taking the train. It was dirty and filthy, exactly how he had remembered it.

He had left Gotham 20 years ago. The thought never crossed his mind to ever return here again. It never made its way into his cerebellum that he would return to this corrupt, and distraught city. That's exactly why he returned.

Chicago didn't need a good officer like him, they had plenty. Gordon felt that Gotham needed him, and she needed him real bad.

The city was now every bit as corrupt as the officials who ran it. Good families like the Waynes were gone. That was one of the many reasons for Gordon's leaving. He knew that with their passing, Gotham herself would follow suit.

It had fallen into the hands of drug and crimelords. She was pathetic, and she needed help. Maybe, just maybe, Gordon was the very help that she sought.

Barbara was waiting for him when he walked off of the train. The two greeted one another with a romantic kiss. Damn how he had missed her.

"Hey babe."

"Hey handsome."

"You hungry?"

"Famished."

"Let's go get something, beautiful."

Bruce Wayne was returning to Gotham, Gordon had heard. He might actually see the guy, it would be good to see him again. He hadn't seen the kid since he sat in his office, hiding from the press, holding his father's bloodstained coat. Hopefully, he had changed for the better.

--

Bruce fell to his knees before them.

It had been 7 years, 7 long years. He could make good on his promise now, on his vow. Soon it would all be over, and he could rest for a long time.

"I'll protect her," Bruce said aloud, "I"ll protect her with my life."

He touched their tombstones and retreated into the Manor. There was lots of work to do.

--

A few weeks later.

Sal took one last drag from his cigarette and dropped it onto the concrete.

"Aight boys, we go in, find the Hood and the dame and drop 'em both, ya hear?"

"Understood boss."

"You see anythin' else unusual, you take it out too."

"Of course boss, of course."

"I got a good feelin' about tonight boys. A real good feelin'."

--

Gordon and Dick came to the gates of the facility, they weren't alone.

Detective Flass came with them, as did Branden and his SWAT team. Something that Gordon felt was completely unneccessary, for Branden would bomb an entire block just to catch a jaywalker.

"Alright guys, do not fire unless provoked and it's safe. One stray shot and the entire building goes up in flame along with all of us."

"You sound a little worried there Jimbo," Branden stated with a hint of cockiness.

"I'm a little more than worried 'Brando'. I have a bad feeling about this, a very bad feeling."

--

Gargoyles.

They are the witnesses of many murders and other various crimes. They are everywhere in Gotham. It seems as if they live there.

A block away, there were 3. All of them with their eyes and gazes set towards AXIS. Without a warning, one of the gargoyles fired some kind of projectile cable and flew to the building.

--

He couldn't take it any longer.

He checked his watch again. 12:00. All of the pieces were set, all that was left was for Maroni's men, the cops, and the Batman to show up.

What a party. What a party.

"Everything will be just fine my dear, just fine."

Joe lifted his hood and gave Selina a kiss on her smooth cheek. He pulled it back over, and vanished into the fumes and mist.

--

The firing started quicker than Dick had anticipated.

As soon as he had entered the complex, there were screams and shouts of "Pigs! Get 'em!" There had already been losses on both sides, that was for certain. However, Dick was to do one and only one thing. Find Selina Falcone.

"Shoot 'em."

Dick shot a glance to his left to see 2 thugs approaching him. Neither one had a gun, and Dick didn't feel like killing anyone. He had made a promise that he would never kill, never. He would live up to it.

The bigger one on the right revealed a baseball bat and swung for the fence. Dick duck and gave him a short elbow to his third rib. He could hear it crackle and splinter. Within seconds, blood forced its way out of the man's mouth and he tumbled to the steel floor.

In these precious seconds the smaller one aimed a baseball-sized fist at his face. Dick shifted his weight at his waist and turned to the right. The punch missed him by centimeters. As the thug was following through, Dick grabbed the inner part of the man's elbow and swung his own elbow right for his eye socket.

Like the other's, his bones crackled and popped, and, in perfect unison, they fell onto the floor together. Dick took a few seconds to catch his breath, and proceeded up the staircase.

--

Another one was down.

The head-shots always worked for Sal. These shots always, for some unknown reason, seemed easiest to him. The SWAT helmets that the force wore did very little to truly protect themselves.

"C'mon ya pigs! Don't tell me this is all ya got!"

After the words came out of his mouth, he felt something long and hard smack the back of his head. His knees buckled from the force of the blow and he fell to the ground.

"Damn cops comin' from behind."

Sal rolled onto his back, firing as soon as he lie flat, upwards. He caught a tall, and incredibly big, man in the shoulder. The shot forced the man down to his own level, and Sal leveld the barrel of the gun to the man's forehead.

"See ya piggie."

A pointed boot came and ferociously kicked his hand at the wrist. Sal let out a scream in agony and found himself staring at a dark-skinned individual with glasses and a moustache.

"Hey there Sal," the man pulled out a cassette tape. "I was wondering if you'd like to explain this."

--

Dick came to a catwalk, and could barely hear the screaming of a young woman over the various other screams and gunshots. Selina. He was close now, real close.

"HELP ME!"

Dick found her tied by a rope to a pole that extended to the top of the building.

"Hold on alright, I'm gonna get you out of here."

Bang.

Dick could feel a sudden warmth in his shoulder, and in seconds, he was out.

--

Joe couldn't believe his aim, nor how fast the man went down. It was a good shot, and an incredibly lucky one at that. He could barely see him through the mist, and shot more by sound than by sight.

Walking through the fumes and mist, he found the body of a young boy, couldn't be any older than 20. His prize, Selina, however, was gone.

"Oh Selina my dear. Where are you?"

He held his gun ready, just in case. She could've run down the stairs, but if she did that, she would certainly be dead. He thought about his own welfare, and decided it was time for him to exit. He walked through the fumes and mist.

"Oh bloody hell."

A fist landed straight in his nose.

--

Time to end this.

He swung again at the pathetic wretch of a man, this time breaking his nose. Blood stained onto his black kevlar gloves. Batman couldn't deny that he loved it. Hood crumpled to the floor and retreated further through the fumes.

"Don't come any closer!"

Hood revealed a knife from his belt and swung violently. The design reminded Batman of a snake. The blade was curved, and almost seemed to sliver. He caught Hood's wrist and violently turned it, forcing him to release the blade, but not enough to break the bone.

"It's over Hood."

"No, Battyman, it's only just beginning."

The Red Hood pulled a .9mm Baretta out of his tuxedo and fired at him. Batman rolled to his left and threw 3 batarangs at his wrist and hand. They connected, forcing him to relinquesh his gun, dropping it to the ground.

Bang.

A bullet from the mist drilled into Hood's shoulder. The kid was conscious again. He had deadly aim, and he knew his spots. It wouldn't kill him, nor would it keep him conscious for long.

"OH MY GOD! YOU SHOT ME!"

Joe was going into shock, and it was painfully obvious. He came close to the railing, too close. Hood slipped over the edge of the railing.

Barely fast enough.

Batman caught Joe's hand with his own, just seconds before he would've been out of reach. He knew he could pull him up, but only if he would stop wriggling and worming his way out of his grip.

"HOLD ON HOOD!"

He could see a smile creep along Hood's face underneath the hood.

"See ya."

Somehow he had managed to grab the gun before he fell. He released one final bullet into Batman's cranium. The impact forced him to fall backwards and let go of Hood.

Only a splash preceded.

--

Dick awoke to the sound of a young woman.

Selina.

"Are you alright?"

"I will be. Where's Batman?"

"He's gone."

"Gone?"

"Gone."

Gordon came striding through the mist with the police force and Sal Maroni in tow.

"Selina, it's time to go home."

--

He made a secret and solemn vow. He would never again let the citizens of Gotham be taken from their families from acts of random crime. He felt that he had taken a small step in accomplishing this. It would only be a matter of time.

Until then, he would continue his fight . . . until he died.

--

A dark mass made its way out of the sewage only miles away from Gotham City. The chemicals were dripping off of his face and hair. He was in unbearable pain, and in an odd way, it was funny.

As a matter of fact, it was hilarious.

He let out a laughter. A small cackle at first, but then increased to outbursts of laughter. His voice was changed, his skin felt different. It was great.

He continued to laugh. After all, why not, if its funny, you're to laugh aren't you?

His voice carried throughout the streets and echoed at the very heart of Gotham. Many were terrified, some just simply shut their doors or windows.

His former life, like so many others, had ended. But in the destruction of his former life came a new beginning.

"Ohhhhhhhhh, this is going to be sooooo much fun."

THE END


End file.
